


Sorry, He Said Quietly, Almost Sadly

by chorus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2617739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chorus/pseuds/chorus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets lost during a blizzard and might freeze to death.  Deputy Parrish wants to save him, but can he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone Time

Jordan Parrish paused at the door of the Beacon Hills Nursing Home. While his green eyes watched the dried Autumn leaves skitter across the parking lot in the night breeze, his mind was elsewhere, gone back to a time when he was happy. A sigh escaped his lips as those memories clashed with his current situation. He had hoped that coming to Beacon Hills would improve things; this deputy job was turning out to be better suited to his abilities.

He was startled back to the present by a voice behind him saying, "Excuse me." Jordan stepped aside and another man came out, slightly older, carrying what looked like a doctor's bag. Jordan glanced at it. "Sorry, doctor," he smiled. "Don't want to hinder a patient's needs."

"I'm not a physician, I'm a veterinarian." the man smiled back. Noticing Jordan's boyish face, he asked, "You're Parrish, aren't you? Sheriff Stilinski's new deputy?"

"Yes," replied Jordan. "And you being a veterinarian, you must be Dr. Deaton." He held out his hand which was warmly received by the vet in a handshake. "Would it be too rude of me to ask what brings you here at night?"

"I take care of the service animals," the vet explained. "Here they mostly serve as companions." The thought crossed Jordan's mind that he should look into that. "I'm surprised to see you here, deputy. There hasn't been any trouble, I hope?"

Jordan shook his head. "Just visiting."

Dr. Deaton asked, "So how are you liking Beacon Hills? I understand it's a bit smaller than where you came from, is the slower pace agreeing with you?"

"Smaller, yes, but slower pace?" Jordan thought for a moment. "I think I'd say Beacon Hills has it's own unique pace."

"Unique is a good way to put it, and you've been here long enough to see some of that. I understand you're a bit unique yourself," said the vet. Jordan said nothing. "Have you figured out what supernatural you are?"

"Not yet. Lydia found a book, and we're working through it. So far we haven't found an exact match." He chuckled. "She's determined to figure me out."

Dr. Deaton also chuckled. "She's a very determined young lady."

Just then a dark-haired woman wearing nurse's scrubs rushed across the parking lot toward the building. She seemed flustered, but when she saw the veterinarian, she smiled. "Dr. Deaton, another kitty crisis?"

"No, just giving some vaccinations," he replied. "Melissa, have you met the new deputy? Melissa McCall, Jordan Parrish."

"Ma'am," Jordan said.

"Deputy, it's nice to finally meet you. The kids have talked so much about you." Melissa answered. "I'd love to stay and chat, but they offered me a shift here, and I don't want to be late. Excuse me." The men moved aside and she hurried through the doors.

"The kids?" Jordan asked.

"Melissa is Scott McCall's mother," Dr. Deaton explained. Jordan's head turned toward the doors as though he expected Melissa to come back. The vet continued. "She's a nurse over at the hospital. Things are a bit tight for them right now, so I guess she's taking work where ever she can get it."

"Sorry to hear that." Jordan's voice was quiet.

Dr. Deaton looked at the parking lot. "I've got to go, can I give you a lift?"

"No, thanks, I live in walking distance." They shook hands. "It was nice meeting you."

 

Deputy Parrish knocked on the door, heard the Sheriff grunt, and walked in. "Afternoon, sir. I met your girlfriend last night."

"My what?" The sheriff was confused.

"Your girlfriend. Melissa McCall."

Stilinski glared at him. "Melissa's not my girlfriend. Her son and my son are best friends."

"You've been spotted at coffee shops around town."

The sheriff's voice hardened. "And just how would you know that?"

Deputy Parrish sighed. "I do patrols, sir."

"Melissa's ex-husband is back in the picture, and she's going through a lot of emotions. I helped her out when she got divorced, and I'm helping her out now," the sheriff explained.

"So that look on your face when you're talking to her?"

Stilinski's face pinched up. "We're done here."

"No, sir, we're not." A smile played around the corners of Deputy Parrish's mouth. "I got a call from the airport. The weather service is tracking a blizzard in the mountains East of us. They say it's not headed our way, but we could get a lot of rain and sleet, and should expect people to be stranded."

The sheriff sighed and fell back into his chair. "Call the Fire Department, Public Works, and the homeless shelters, let them know. Tell the guys that anybody who's off the next few days is actually on call." He thought for a moment. "You might call a few of the hotels, too, but be sure and let them know that if I hear of any price gouging, there'll be hell to pay."

"Yes sir," the deputy said. "What about the hospital?"

"I'll call them myself," replied the sheriff, reaching for the phone.

This time Deputy Parrish couldn't suppress his smile as he left the office.

 

Stiles was determined to get Malia in some "alone time" as he called it, though "heavy makeout session" would probably be a more accurate description of his plans. In Econ class, he told Scott to cover for him for missing Lacrosse practice, as he was going to drive out to the old Hale house, then call Malia, tell her his jeep broke down and ask her to come out there. Scott told him he was crazy, especially since Malia didn't have a car. "Oh, yeah," Stiles mused.

Well, then, how about this: he would tell Malia to meet him out there, that there was something really important he needed to show her. She was a wolf, she could run fast, and he'd be waiting for her. Since it was raining, they'd have to huddle in his jeep, and then it would be game on. Scott shook his head and told him there was nothing wrong with being the only virgin in Beacon County. Annoyed, Stiles snapped, "Just cover for me."

The rain was a bit heavier than Stiles anticipated as he was driving out of town. He was sure, though, that more rain could easily be translated into more "alone time" and sped up, because the sooner he got there meant the sooner he could call Malia. He took a curve too fast, and the jeep skidded into the guardrail, flipped over and rolled down the hill. Stiles was knocked unconscious.

 

Deputy Parrish didn't wait for an answer when he knocked on Sheriff Stilinski's office door. "The weather service just called. The blizzard changed direction and is racing right at us. They say we've got about an hour, hour and a half, before all hell breaks loose."

The sheriff jumped out of his chair. "Call Public Works, get 'em moving. Tell the guys here they're doing overtime, and call the next shift guys and get 'em in here now." He thought for a moment. "Do we have that texty twittery thing going yet?"

"You mean the text alert system?" Parrish asked. "It's in place, but not many people have signed up for it yet."

"Doesn't matter," Sheriff Stilinski shook his head. "Get a warning out on it. Then call all the other places, including the hospital. I'll head over to the high school."

The day had already ended by the time the sheriff arrived, except for Lacrosse practice, where Coach Finstock was yelling at the players. Snowflakes were drifting through the air as the sheriff approached him. "You gotta cancel practice, Coach, there's a blizzard coming."

"Stilinski, these guys are playing so bad a blizzard might improve their performance!" grumbled Coach Finstock, earning a glare from the sheriff. "Okay, okay." He blew his whistle. "Practice is over, you losers! Hit the showers."

"Grab your clothes and shower at home!" Sheriff Stilinksi yelled. "There's a blizzard coming, and it looks bad!" He turned back to the Coach. "Where's Stiles?"

Coach's head swiveled around as his eyes searched the field. "Dunno. 'Course, he's so easy to miss." Another dirty look. "McCall! Hey, MCCALL! Where's Stilinski?"

Scott turned around and continued moving. "He didn't show today, Coach. He said he had some homework to do."

"He was doing homework?" the Coach and Sheriff said in unison, their faces incredulous. The snowfall was getting thicker as Sheriff Stilinski waved Scott back. "This is Stiles we're talking about," he said, a note of annoyance in his voice. "Tell me what's really going on."

"He was going to meet Malia, only," Scott chewed his lip and looked up at the bleachers. "She's still here. Malia!" he yelled. She climbed down. "Have you heard from Stiles?"

"Not since school let out. What's going on?" Concern spread across her face.

"He was going to go up to the old Hale place and call you to meet him." Scott told her.

"That place was razed a couple of months ago," the sheriff told them. Just then his radio crackled with Deputy Parrish's voice. He grabbed the mic. "It'll have to wait, Parrish."

"No, sir," came the reply. "You need to go on this one. There's been a rollover out on the highway. It's your son's jeep."

 

Thick snow was falling heavily when Stiles regained consciousness. He hurt all over, but wiggling his way out of the overturned jeep, it felt like nothing was broken. Standing up, he was confused, disoriented and cold. Where was he? And which way should he go for help? Weak from shock, he staggered around, but all he could see was snow, thick on the ground, falling heavily from the sky. The wind was picking up.

Growing colder by the minute, Stiles picked up one foot and set it in front of the other. He kept doing that, going in no particular direction, with only one word in his head: shelter. But where? Buffeted by the now-howling wind, all he could see was a swirling cloud of snow.

There. Over there. Something big. A tree? A rock? Maybe it could give him some kind of shelter. Groggy, freezing, and growing weaker by the minute, he plodded toward it. When he got closer he squinted his eyes. A cave! Shelter! Shivering so hard he was almost shaking, he kept moving, not caring if the cave was full of bears, supernaturals, or anything else. It was shelter.

He stopped just inside to let his eyes adjust. The cave seemed to be empty. Stiles was so weak, so cold, so glad to be out of the storm, he fainted.


	2. Just Remembering Some Things

The highway to Beacon Hills was closed at the county line, as much by the snow as by the barricades Sheriff Stilinski had ordered be put up. At the accident site, cars were parking in an area off the road, men in full snow gear were walking to where Sheriff Stilinski stood under a canopy that flapped noisily in the wind and swirling snow.

Out of one car came FBI Agent McCall, dressed warmly but not in search gear, carrying a large thermos. Sheriff Stilinski's look changed to annoyance as he saw the agent approaching. He raised his voice over the howling wind. "McCall, what are you doing here?"

The approaching man held up the thermos. "Coffee. And if it were my son out there, you would be here even if you weren't the sheriff." Just then two large pickup trucks appeared, each carrying a snowmobile. McCall pointed at them. "Besides, I have some really good help."

John Stilinski held out his gloved hand. "Thank you, Rafael." he said. A panel van with several large antennas on top arrived. "Comm truck is here. Get your radios and test them, then you're on your way." The truck door opened, and Deputy Parrish jumped out, wearing a dayglow blue and orange snowsuit, carrying a large backpack. "Let me guess: military search and rescue training." the sheriff said, his voice a mix of humor and annoyance.

"No, sir," replied the deputy. "Eagle Scout training." Stiles' dad motioned him aside, spoke in his ear. and the deputy nodded. Snow was piling quite heavily around the comm van's antennas by the time the men were ready to go. They were to remain close to each other -visual contact was essential at all times- except for Deputy Parrish who, after an almost-heated discussion with the Sheriff in front of the other men, would go his own way.

Jordan's instincts told him to go slow and occasionally wander aimlessly. He expected that Stiles would have done the same after he crawled out of the jeep and the blowing snow had long since destroyed any chance of finding tracks. Every ten minutes the radio crackled in his earpiece, the base wanting his location and a status report. The wind was still howling and the snow was almost blinding.

Something caught his eye, over by the rocks. Not movement, but an odd color on the rise. He changed direction to check it out just as his radio came to life again. "Stand down!" ordered the sheriff. "All men report back to base immediately." Had Stiles had been found? "No," came the reply, his voice full of pain. "But this storm is getting worse, and I've got a whole county to think about. Report, Parrish."

"Sir?"

The Sheriff sounded annoyed. "I said report, Parrish!"

That was the signal. The Sheirff had asked for a report, not a status report. Deputy Parrish opened his mic. "I'm about a mile north of town, not far from the highway. I'll walk on in, should be there in about thirty minutes," he lied. Asked if he was sure, he replied affirmatively. Jordan Parrish was now on his own, alone with no backup. Back at the base, Sheriff Stilinski had asked him if he was willing to go solo if the search needed to be called off. He'd nodded yes. He wasn't afraid, and the only worry he had was not finding Stiles in time.

Approaching the rocks, he realized that the odd color wasn't a color, but a cave entrance. Switching on his flashlight, he stood and the entrance and peered in. There was a lump of something over to one side. Was it a bear? He took a couple of steps in, paused and looked again. It was Stiles, unconscious and shivering.

Parrish shucked his backpack, unzipped it and took out a small container and what looked like a cloth ball. Unsnapping the ball, he shook it and out rolled a sleeping bag. Going over to Stiles, he grabbed his shoulder. "Wake up, Stiles, I need you to drink this." Stiles' eyelids fluttered, then he yelled and struggled to get away, but he was so weak it took little effort to pin him, reassure him. "It's okay, Stiles, it's Deputy Parrish. You're safe. Drink this." Parrish took the cap off the container and tipped it to Stiles' mouth, who almost choked, some of the liquid dripping on his chin. The Deputy stood up and helped Stiles to his feet. "Get undressed."

A groggy "Wha?" was the response. Parrish, already out of his parka, was unbuttoning his shirt. "You're suffering from hypothermia. I need to warm you up." Stiles, still shivering, didn't move. Tossing his own shirt on top of the parka, Parrish unzipped the boy's jacket and wriggled it off his shoulders. Then he grabbed his t-shirt and pulled, forcing Stiles' arms up while it came off. Stiles wasn't helping, but he wasn't resisting, either. Unbuckling his own belt, Parrish said, "Get your clothes off. Everything. Now!"

Stiles moved slowly, unzipping his pants and kicking off his shoes. Parrish, his boxers landing on the pile of clothes, yanked down Stiles' underwear, causing him to squeal. "No time for modesty," said Parrish, grabbing up both of their sets of clothes and stuffing them into the bottom of the sleeping bag. "Get in," he ordered. Stiles crawled into the sleeping bag, followed by his rescuer, who zipped it up tight. Facing the still shivering boy, he wrapped his arms around him, pulled him as tight as he could, then wrapped his legs around him, too. Stiles mumbled incoherently, something that sounded like "Derek" and passed out.

Parrish, feeling the chill of the body he held, wished he could raise his own body temperature to help Stiles warm up more quickly. As if on command, he felt his body get warmer, and he wondered if that was another supernatural trait. The shivering lessened, and soon he could feel Stiles' skin warming. His teeth stopped chattering and his breathing slowed to normal sleep.

The wind blew the snow around outside, but inside Jordan's mind he watched memories like they were on a movie screen. At the beach together, laughing and splashing. On a rollercoaster, howling with delight. The sad farewell when he left for the military. Getting the bad news. Coming home to a tragedy. Working hard, and spending as much free time at the nursing home as he could. A tear leaked out his eye and slid down his cheek.

"Why're you crying?" Stiles had awakened.

"It's just cold." replied Jordan.

"That's a real tear," Stiles observed. "What's wrong?"

Jordan sighed and pulled back a little bit. "Just remembering some things, that's all."

"Like what?"

Jordan looked into Stiles' eyes and saw sincerity. He also instinctively knew that Stiles would never tell anybody else. He sighed. "We met when I was seventeen," he started. Slowly the story unfolded, how they fell in love, the horrors of being in a war zone, the tears when he returned. Stiles took in every word, every pause for a breath, every change in emotion. Jordan finished by explaining how he felt drawn to Beacon Hills, was glad to get the job here, and that there was a good nursing home.

Stiles' eyes were moist with emotion. "That's awful," he whispered. He wrapped his arms around Jordan, pulled the man's head down. He felt the tears on his shoulder as they both drifted off to sleep.


	3. I Respect It

"Uh, Stiles?"

"Oh, sorry," Stiles murmured, and shifted his hips. Jordan could feel the warmth of the blood rushing to the boy's face, could see the skin color changing to red. Stiles had warmed up, and would most likely be fine. Grinning to himself, Jordan loosened his body lock on his companion. When he had been at war, winters had been brutal, the winds even worse. To stay warm, he'd shared many a sleeping bag with another soldier, as had other soldiers.

Although not as bad as earlier, the wind was still blowing. He heard Stiles' stomach rumble, so carefully, he reached over and grabbed some power bars out of his pack. Stiles' thanks was a grunt, but he stopped eating and looked confused when Jordan asked him to eat slowly. "Your body's been through a shock, and might send that back up. Don't really want it in here."

"Okay, Derek, uh, Deputy," Stiles said, looking down.

"That's twice now you've called me Derek," Jordan observed. Stiles kept his eyes down and continued chewing. "You called me that when I stuffed you into the sleeping bag last night."

"Yeah, well," Stiles muttered.

"I was flattered."

Stiles looked up at him. "Really? Why?"

"Supernatural stuff aside, Derek is a survivor. Plus, he's got an interesting moral code. I may not understand it all the time, but I respect it." explained Jordan. "He's the kind of guy I'd want next to me in a fight, and the kind of guy I'd want living next door." He locked eyes with Stiles. "And what about you?"

Stiles almost choked on his power bar. "Not like, well, we have a lot of history together." He explained the last few years of knowing Derek, the life saving, the people saving. "Don't ever tell him this, but I admire him." Jordan nodded his head. "Sometimes it feels like a bromance, luckily without benefits."

"You're sure about that?" teased Jordan.

A strange look flashed across Stiles' face. "He doesn't want benefits, and I certainly don't want them!"

"Then why do I need to ask you to shift your hips again?

Flustered, Stiles shifted his hips, blushed deeply and tucked his head down. "Go ahead and laugh."

Jordan put his hands under Stiles' jaw and lifted his face to within inches of his own. "I'm not laughing. I'm seeing a normal kid have normal feelings." His eyes bored into Stiles'. "I've been there, too."

"It's just, it's just..." Stiles' voice trailed off.

"It's just that Derek is a really intense guy who gives off a powerful vibe."

Stiles' eyes grew wide. "You're hot for him?" he asked, astonishment in his voice.

Jordan couldn't help but laugh. "You jealous?" he teased.

"No!" Stiles exclaimed, but then he looked away.

"There's nothing to be jealous about, Stiles." Jordan pulled him closer. "After all, I just told you my life story. It's normal to have these kind of feelings."

"Like the feelings I have for you? I've got some really strong ones right now." Jordan's eyebrows shot up as Stiles grinned. "You just saved my life."

Deputy Parrish tried to look stern. "You're still getting a ticket for reckless driving." The stern look morphed into a smile.

Stiles looked into his companion's green eyes, and moved closer. “Maybe this'll change your mind.” He tiled his head and moved in. There was a sudden movement, and Stiles found himself kissing Jordan's hand.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, almost sadly.

Stiles rested his head on Jordan's shoulder, and kissed his neck. “I really am grateful,” he whispered into the man's ear. Jordan pulled him tight and kissed the top of his head. Several minutes passed while each pondered their own emotions, at the same time feeling the other's warmth. Light began filling the cave as the storm passed and a new day began.

 

"What the hell?!?" Coach Finstock stood in the cave entrance, his eyes bulging out more than usual. Jordan and Stiles separated, though not very far thanks to the small sleeping bag. The coach stepped forward, glaring at the deputy. "You do realize he's a minor!"

"I am not!" exclaimed Stiles. "I've been eighteen for two months!" He glared at the coach.

Coach's eyes were still locked on Jordan's. "Big deal! You're supposed to be out here saving him, not seducing him!"

"What are you doing out here?" asked Jordan, calmly. The coach seemed to shrivel a little bit, losing all his bluster. He didn't answer. Jordan asked again.

"I kind of got lost," replied the coach, meekly. "I came out about an hour ago to look for Stiles since the deputies are busy dealing with other things. Only I got mixed up and, well, here I am."

"Good," Stiles said sharply. "You can watch the entrance while we get dressed."

"You're naked?" Coach's eyes bugged out even more. The two men in the sleeping bag said nothing. The coach threw his hands in the air. "I don't wanna know. But I don't need to turn around. I'm a coach, and I've seen more-"

"Like he said," Jordan cut him off, his voice louder. "You can watch the entrance."

Muttering to himself, the coach turned around and the men crawled out of the bag and retrieved their clothes. They dressed quickly, and Jordan packed his gear while Stiles stuffed empty power bar wrappers in his pocket. 

Jordan grabbed Stiles, pulling him close. "You're a great guy." he whispered to Stiles, and kissed him. Stiles grinned.

"Finstock," Jordan called, walking around him and out of the cave. "Follow me and you won't get lost."


End file.
